


Diagnosed, No Disease

by GhostHost



Series: Ties [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Adoption, OP and Ratchet are amicas, Platonic Soulmates, Reveal, The twins as OP and Ratchet's kid, and noooo one takes it well, but a look at their relationship when they're all adults, cats out of the bag now, they hide it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 03:44:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are the now-grown, adopted kids of one Optimus Prime and Ratchet, Amica Enduras, lifelong platonic soulmates, and (partially) grumpy commanders of the Autobot army.  For obvious reasons, they couldn't exactly tell anyone.Which means when they do reveal it it's in the most dramatic way possible.





	Diagnosed, No Disease

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I like the stories were Ratchet (and whoever else) adopt the twins as younglings before the war, I don’t often see that dynamic with them all as adults. So I had a go at it. There’s a full fic in here somewhere, but I’d rather just write the fun scenes so ya’ll get it “snapshot” style. This part of this series was a response to Insecuriosity's prompt forever ago which was " Someone gets infected witha Cybertronian parasite?"

 

 

* * *

 

There were aliens on the ship. 

Sunstreaker didn’t remember their official name, or what planet they were from and frankly he didn’t care. If he were honest with himself, he didn’t care about the danger they presented to the humans or the fact that they couldn’t go home (which was Earth, now) until the damn things were all dead either.

All he cared about was that they were capable of mimicking anything and everyone they came across, impersonating them and killing when their targets let their guard down. He’d already been tricked twice today. He wasn’t aiming to go for a third. 

So when Optimus Prime was called into question of being real or fake, Sunstreaker didn’t hesitate. He shoved his way past Red Alert and Prowl, ignored Jazz entirely and tapped Ironhide on the shoulder with his rifle. The mech glanced back, and without question, stepped aside. 

“Hush.” The old bot boomed, right over the protests of the surrounding mechs. “Let him have at it.”

“ _ Sunstreaker _ is going to figure out if this is the real Optimus Prime?” That was Cliffjumper, and Sunstreaker filed the comment away so he’d remember to kick the shit out of the minibot later. Right now though, he had a more pressing issue.

“Who are you, to me?” He snarled at their maybe-not Leader. 

Optimus blinked down at him, looking every bit like their beloved commander. “I am Optimus Prime.” He answered immediately. “Leader of the Autobots, and” His optics crinkled at the edges, as they always did when he smiled, “your friend.” He went to lay a hand on the frontliners shoulder, field flexing out with a relaxed friendliness. 

Sunstreaker shot him. 

He ignored the gasps and swears. Ironhide barked a few things he also didn’t hear, and instead focused on fake-Optimus as he dropped. 

He wasn’t a Cybertronian by the time he hit the floor. 

The outcry turned into something else abruptly, as mechs caught sight of the dead alien before them. 

“Primus, how the hell did he tell just from that?” Someone said, sounding both impressed and concerned. 

“We have more pressing matters.” Prowl responded, practical as always. “Like where  _ our _ Optimus is.” 

Sunstreaker turned, shoving his way through the crowd. Someone tried to stop him, he shrugged their hands off.

“You heard Prowl.” His voice showed all his rage, though he personally thought he was doing a damn good job of holding it back considering. “Let’s find our Prime.” 

He wouldn’t be able to rest until they did. 

 

xXx

Here they went again

This Optimus had been in battle, and was hurt from it. An argument had taken place about whether to get him to medbay first before attempting to figure out if he were real. 

“This is what they want! They want us to turn on each other! To question and refuse medical care until we bleed out!” Bumblebee argued, standing protectively in front of the Prime. . 

“He’s not going anywhere until we know!” Retorted a near-hysterical Red Alert. Inferno was doing his best to calm him down, hadn’t left his side for the whole day, but he wasn’t much comfort in the end. This had been a trying day for them all, but the absolute worst nightmare for their paranoid security director. 

“Move.” Sunstreaker ordered, again shoving his way through. More mechs let him  come this time, remembering the last, but protests still followed him as he did so. 

“Let the crew test me.” Optimus said, quietly. “Red Alert is correct. We must know who is real and who is an impersonation.” He winced, and Skyfire-who had practically carried him in-was quick to adjust his hold as something definitely broken in the Prime’s back whirred and caused him to sag. “However,” He added with pained humor, “I do request you do it quickly.” 

“How are we supposed to _ quickly _ tell if you’re real or not!? The aliens know all our codes! They know almost everything about us!” Red Alert was doing a remarkable impersonation of a wailing siren, his optics blown so wide half the mechs present were amazed they hadn’t fallen out.

“ _ Move! _ ” Sunstreaker snarled louder, as more mechs gathered. Ironhide turned at his voice, and proceeded to raise his. “Let Sunstreaker through!” He bellowed. A gap abruptly formed, from where the frontliner stood to Ironhide’s side, in front of their Prime. 

He wasted no time in marching forward, rifle raised. 

“Who are you to me?” He demanded, ignoring the muttered “Not this again” and “Why are we relying on  _ him?”  _ Nevermind that he had been correct the first time.

This Optimus blinked up at him for a moment, his injuries forcing him to lean on Skyfire for support and thus, was stooped lower than Sunstreaker stood. He was quiet for a moment, long enough for Sunstreaker’s rifle powering up to be heard throughout the room. 

“Who am I too you?” He repeated, battlemask retracting as he spoke, revealing a small, if not pained smile, “I am your Sire.” 

Dead silence.

“He’s the real one.” Sunstreaker announced, lowering his rifle. He casually stepped around, sweeping under Optimus’s other arm so he could help support him. 

The quiet only lasted a klik longer before the entire crowd burst into noise. 

“Gossip later, make a path to the medbay now!” Bellowed Ironhide, followed by a curse. “And someone grab Prowl before he crashes!” 

 

xXx

“If it helps you any, we’re adopted.” Sideswipe said, trying to reign in his delight. 

“That does actually help, thank you.” Prowl said, with a sigh. His battle-computer had gone absolutely berserk at the knowledge that the twins were _ Optimus’s and Ratchet’s.  _ He had known they were Amica’s but to add sparklings to that…

Well, to be fair, nothing worse than the twins could have come from that coupling. 

“Though we did inherit a fair number of traits from them. Sunny got Ratch’s temper, and I got Orion’s love of pranks!” 

“ _ Optimus _ likes to prank people?” Prowl muttered, not entirely believing it, but not disbelieving it either. His beloved leader had an awful habit of stressing him out after all...

“How do you think I get away with so much? He’s even helped me with a few!” Sideswipe beamed, and oh Primus there went his battle computer again. 

“Careful, glitchling. You’ll crash Prowl again.” Ratchet warned, striding into the medbay. 

“But mom!” He whined, enjoying the effects the title had on the surrounding mechs. Ratchet rolled his optics. 

This was going to be a longer debriefing than they thought. 


End file.
